Dead Aggies Don't Drive Trains

Skullduggery on the Mailpie Line... Rex Albert, widowed, unemployed, and on the downhill side of middle age, had nothing better to do the day he drove along a soon-to-be-abandoned railroad line through the New Mexico desert. Then he ran across Comunicado Junction, spur to a twice-failed speculators' dream from the turn of the last century. Little did he know that he was about to enter a portal into history - his own included. Of course, it wasn't all quite legal, and a couple of people had died, and he might be next, but those things happen.
About the Author: Don Bemis was born in Carlsbad, New Mexico, a long way from anyplace that isn't Carlsbad. Carlsbad exists for farming and ranching, mining and petroleum, and tourists. The closest places of similar size are an hour's drive away. An airplane ticket will get you a ride to Albuquerque on a seven seat single prop, on which the safety spiel is basically, "If you use the airsick bag, please take it with you." Eight mines once employed thousands of people around the clock, but most have closed. One of the two railroad yards is gone. The gas business comes and goes. On the other hand, highways are four lanes now instead of two. National labs have moved in because, twenty miles out of town, the government buries their radioactive waste half a mile underground. TV is pulling the local culture more into line with TV's definition of normality, which is not necessarily an improvement. Don attended New Mexico State University, intending to be an electrical engineer, but graduating instead with a B.S. in geography. He played clarinet in the Aggie Band and wrote a humor column for the student paper. While in college, he tracked satellites in American Samoa, tested computer equipment in Oklahoma, and worked summers at a mine outside Carlsbad. He also met another Aggie clarinet player, a girl from Los Alamos in the mountains of northern New Mexico. It must have worked, because they are still married. Two adults, two kids, and two cats moved from New Mexico to Michigan in 1979, during a blizzard. South Haven has less than 5,000 people in the winter and over 15,000 in the summer. Chicago is seventy miles away via Lake Michigan, or three hours by land, which explains the population swing. Don and Lois did their part for the year-round population by having three more children. All are grown, and some are multiplying. Degrees don't always define careers. Don's first job after college was as a draftsman, and engineering has been his day job ever since. It pays the bills, but writing is more fun. Don and Lois enjoy rail travel. They have taken most of the major North American passenger routes, including some that are now defunct. He also does woodwork, photography, clarinet, walking, church, and city government. They get to a Chicago Cubs or Detroit Tigers baseball game once in a while. What they don't do is watch TV.